A Letter to Her. Chapter 1

Have you ever felt different? Not in a supernatural way but in a pompous way. This guy certainly has. And for good reasons too.

I’d like to think that my town is strange, that all the things we do and say are considered absurd anywhere but here. Unfortunately, I’m sure I'm wrong. I live in a typical house on a typical street in a neighborhood typical to my famously typical town. I bet you are annoyed by how many times I've said the word typical. Well, at least if you get overcome with boredom, you can close this book and go back to your life. I can’t do that. I’m stuck in this farmer’s almanac of a book for my whole life, or until I get out of high school and scrounge up enough cash to get out of this place.

I dream of what's beyond this typical place. I've always hated this town and I've almost always known why. It’s because deep amidst the typical things you might find me. One of the least typical people this town has ever known.

If by chance you have the slightest clue who I am, you might disagree. I look like a simple boy. Fashion is one of my gifts . I know exactly which grey hoodie goes with which of my jeans. I don’t even have to mess with my hair to give it that modern messy look. It’s too bad my town isn’t modern enough to appreciate it.

I also have a bit of a sarcastic trait, which my town also doesn’t appreciate. I never take picture of myself and people rarely take pictures with me in them, but when they do, my face is always the same. No matter how genuine the smile is, my eyes always look in pain. I've never thought of myself as a sad person yet over and over again my smile highlights the dark, dreariness in my eyes

Perhaps my eyes remember more than my mouth does. It also would only make sense if my eyes can see something my mouth can’t. Maybe they see more of the world around them, more from the eyes in the bodies around me, more of the body they’ve made their home in. All this is scientifically unfounded but totally possible.

One thing that is definitely scientifically founded and that i know for sure is that im a void of energy and joy. Ill be at family reunions, watching my many cousins laugh and joke while i stand quietly in my self-designated corner. In a sudden, uncharacteristically brave moment, i would step forward a few paces and join the conversation. The laughter that once roared through the room would settle uneasily to silence. Everyone would mysteriously forget  the jokes they were planning on telling. Too embarrassed to leave and too awkward to speak, i stand there as the sweet silence that was once a close friend and loyal ally betrays me and turns bitter.

This has been a long standing issue for me. It kind of drove me to stay away from any and all people’s attention. It’s not that i don’t like people; i love them. Seeing people smiling and being genuinely happy is one of the only things that can make me smile, which is why i keep my distance. My presence makes them uncomfortable. As much as i wish i could have great friendships and fun times, i know that it will never end well. I end up finding someone who tolerates me to spend my time with, and when i say “spend my time with” i mean all of my time.

I can’t help but cling onto people i think will be kind. And they are kind, until they have no choice but to be mean. They need space that i lack the ability to give. They start out nice enough, quietly making plans without me, but then they can’t help themselves. They decide that enough’s enough and tell me to back off… that they want to be friends with me but they need me to step back so they can breathe. Unfortunately, I can’t do that; I can’t step back. I can only spin on my heels and run away. So i do. I run away from them and never so much as glance their way for too long.

I’m sure my phone company had a good laugh. My number of texts used to fluctuate from 1 a day from my mom to 101 a day from my mom and my stalkie of the moment. About 40 of them were “lol”, a word that i came to realize didn’t mean they thought it was funny. On the contrary, they thought i was the most annoying and dull human they had ever encountered.

In “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper lee, she talks about a young girl’s cousin. She describes talking to the cousin as “settling slowly to the bottom of the ocean”. I bet this is how they feel about me. I’ve never felt so connected to a book character in my life. Except that cousin was an a*****e, and if there's one thing I’m sure about it's that I’m no a*****e. Which is why it hurts when i see all the jerks with beautiful, sweet girls falling all over the, and scholarships, and friends, and all the other things i will never have. Why should they get rewarded for being bad people? Why do good people get trampled but competition until they are left to wallow in their own pity?

Speaking of pity, I don’t want yours. It may seem like I’m crying out for help, or fishing for a “You’re a great guy” or a “You deserve better” because I’m not. This is just one of my many unattractive qualities.

People don’t like broody, depressed, pitiful boys, unless they have full dark hair and washboard abs (which i don’t have either in case you were wondering). I mean I’m not unfit or anything, in fact I’m… who am i kidding? I nothing more than a wire frame with skin thrown over it.

Oops, there's the pitifulness again. I’m surprised you're still reading this, most people get sick of me by now. That’s why I stay quiet for the most part.

I guess that one day in September was different.

In literature my teacher asked us if we agreed with modern literature’s obsession with “the soulmate”. The whole topic blew over their heads. The girls had Hollywood answers and the boys had blank stares. That’s how it was in ninth grade and that’s how it is in tenth, naive and dead brained. It will be the same in eleventh and twelfth, just decreasing on the innocence side and increasing on the body hair.

I’m know I’m going to hate all of it. I’m expected to like football, no obsessed with football. Oh and b***s. If I don’t at least pretend to obsess over b***s, I must be gay according to the almighty dicks in the varsity jackets (honestly b***s are great and all but they aren’t all that). That’s just the social politics of high school boys.

After some girl gave her description of her description of her soulmate hardly even worthy of a gag, the teacher asked my opinion. She assumed I hadn’t been paying attention, so she sighed and recapped what the girl had said. “Blah blah one true love blah blah”

What’s my opinion? It’s complete bullshit. I didn’t say that of course but I still did something uncharacteristic and lost my temper a little.

“It’s not true. Well,” I hesitated slightly, feeling a little too accusatory, “It’s not right at least. Love isn’t reserved for one person,” I explained a little louder than intended, “It’s for anyone deserving of your love. You shouldn’t--”

“Hey, man.” Some mountain of a freshman interrupted unapologetic, “ I don’t really believe anyone is lining up for “your love” anytime soon” He chuckled deeply along with a few others.

The interruption suddenly made me conscious of my impending rant. In a way I was thankful for that jock stopping me before I made things worse for myself. He really saved me there…

“Hey!” the teacher chastised That’s enough from you, Rick” or Ryan, or maybe Todd, “Let the young man finish,”

Oh, the young man doesn’t need to finish. The young man is fine exactly how he is.

“Go on,” The teacher prompted blatantly ignoring my pleading looks.

The class waited expectantly. It was too late. The energy and passion i had a minute ago faded into anxiety and dread. “Uh,” I said stupidly. It was the only thing that would come out. I felt like I was bumbling about like an idiot for hours when I’m sure (or atleast I hope) it had only been a minute, maybe two.

Another large guy coughed dramatically. He wasn’t quite as wide but he was tall and slim. A basketball guy, or maybe baseball. “He probably doesn’t want to talk about love because he’s a f*g!” He stage-whispers. This guy might’ve actually been good in theater, ironically. I remember thinking just before laughter burst out like a caged panther.

“No, that's not…” I tried to recover but it was too late. The laughter was unbearable. Everyone was against me. Even the teacher just sat there waiting for it to die down.

Just then I heard something different to the harsh sounds surrounding me. “Very funny..” was muttered out among the laughter. It had been almost inaudible to anyone not listening too hard. Snarky sarcasm? Its must of been me. But it wasn’t me obviously. Someone had almost defending me. I scanned the class to find only one person not cracking up in the slightest. She wasn’t what Mr. Mountain or Sir Legs would consider pretty. But she was more than gorgeous to me. She had a face I could (and most certainly would) remember. Just the right amount of flaws that did nothing but accentuate her beauty and individualism. She was just staring holes into her notebook. Quite fortunately for me; I’m not sure if i could’ve looked away at that point even if she had caught me.

Finally, the joke got old and the teacher regained control. And the quiet tore my eyes away from her. From them on the class was the same; Hollywood answers and blank stares.

to be continued

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy this loser as much as I do because you will be seeing more of him. See you lovelies later in the next chapter of this little creation.

Reviews

[Salem Gray]

Very powerful. As a boy who grew up in a small town and went to a high school he knew he didn't fit into: I relate to this piece so much. That's my biggest reaction this piece: relatable, at least for me. I nodded at a lot of things you mentioned, and I almost felt myself in this.
Anyway, your voice is your best asset. The voice carries this piece and I couldn't stop reading because it was like you were conversing with me. This didn't feel like a typical narrator--it was you reading. I love when writers have strong voices and yours is definitely there.
Of course, I do have some suggestions. I think you could tone back on the self-deprecation just a little bit. Its great confessional writing but I think after a certain point the reader will just want to sigh and give up. Again, I think its great to a certain point--but use it wisely.
Also, I think you could afford to have more of a story here. This feels like a diary entry, and that isn't bad, it just needs more of a story to carry it.

Anyway, wonderful job. LOVE the voice. You have lots of potential as a writer working with voices. I also appreciate how relatable the story is. I think we grew up the same way haha. :)

[Stan Lee]

Love it. And definitely looking forward to seeing more of him! I love the way you write - really draws me right into the story. Thanks for sharing CC. :)